


FXXK IT

by soulofme



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Word vomit tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: They’re the invincible youth, except sometimes the world feels like it’s gonna crush them and their weary bones threaten to give out on them.They’re reckless, and it’s beautiful in a way most things fail to be.





	FXXK IT

There’s a cracked ceiling over his head, but it’s got nothing on the jagged crack running through his heart. Logically, hearts don’t crack or break. They bleed, though, and if Jaebum could see his heart, he’d swear it was bleeding out into the space between him and the rest of the world.

He’s tired.

Tired of caring. Tired of not caring. Tired of existing but not living, of feeling nothing instead of _something_.

And maybe it’s making him a little crazy, turning him into some kind of maniac. Because he’s got a lot of _something_ pumping through his veins now, adrenaline or whatnot, and it’s making him antsy. He’s bouncing on his toes, weighing out his options, saying the words he only ever had the courage to think.

There’s a boy, with dark hair and big doe eyes, and sometimes he looks at Jaebum like he’s his whole world. It means a whole lot even when it shouldn’t. Scares him right down to his bones, leaving behind that sour aftertaste of fear. No one looks at him like he means something, no one has in a long time, and he doesn’t know why this boy _does_.

His explains it to Lisa, which is weird because _friend_ is a bit of a stretch when it comes to her. And she laughs and laughs and laughs, because she hates him six days out of seven. But then she sobers up, holds him by the shoulders, abandons her soju bottle on the table.

“Oppa,” she starts, and she only says it to annoy the shit out of him. A whole bunch of bullshit, that word. No respect. He tells her so and she smirks. “Maybe you love him.”

He swats her off. Lisa doesn’t laugh now, but she reclaims her soju and throws it back like she’s in the desert and that’s the first thing she’s had to drink in days.

“Think about it,” she goes on, like she’s suddenly an expert on love and those who get fucked by it.

“No.”

His cheeks are wet, shiny with something he doesn’t want to name. He’s clutching a throw pillow to his chest like it’s a shield that’ll somehow deflect Lisa’s words and bounce them back to her. There’s a dim yellow light hanging over his head, there’s a crack in the ceiling, and there’s a breech in Jaebum’s defenses.

Lisa holds her hand out like a peace offering.

“Dance with me.”

He gets up. He holds her to his chest, the wise old woman trapped in a young body, and sways them to a song that even he can’t hear.

Days later, Mark’s sitting on his couch, back to the world, smiling like everything is good and nothing ever hurts. Maybe Jaebum could write a poem about it, if he had half the talent he thinks he does.

But he doesn’t, so he just sits and stares at him like an idiot. He’s a teenager all over again, trading shy looks with someone, itty bitty glances that feel like much more than they should.

He’s tired again, but there’s a whole other reason for it. He’s tired of wanting and not having, of desiring and not getting, of trying and always, always _failing._

He tells Mark so, and Mark looks at him like Jaebum’s sprouting nonsense. And maybe he is, but he’s up on his feet now, pacing, talking, going and going without stopping.

He talks about being and breathing and love and light. He talks like it’s his last day on this good green Earth, like everything is temporary because it _is_. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, and he keeps getting this image of Mark walking up and out of his apartment, out of his life, and Jaebum’s too fragile to be able to cope with it.

He stops halfway through some bullshit about running away, about getting out of here, chest heaving like he’s run a marathon. And Mark stares at him with his big, pretty eyes, those goddamn eyes that Jaebum swears he sees in his dreams.

“I’m tired too,” he says, carefully, like Jaebum’s a scared animal that’s gonna run off as soon as he speaks. “I’m tired all the time.”

It feels like coming home, like stripping off his clothes and baring himself, when he kisses Mark. Like swimming in the ocean in the summer, like diving deep into something so, so beautiful that he can’t even begin to understand.

But it feels right, more than anything, and he clings onto that.

Because his tongue is tied and his body’s shaking and everything he wants to say feels like it’s not enough. Jaebum likes saying the right things at the right times, likes when everything falls neatly into place, like putting together a puzzle.

Wanting Mark is nothing like that. Wanting Mark is trying to push together something that won’t fit, trying to jam something into a box that’s already close to bursting. But he does it because he doesn’t know what else to do, because this is all he fucking has and he _wants it_.

Jaebum has stiff fingers, and when Mark’s gone he’s staring down at a blank screen with all of the letters of the alphabet laid out in front of him. It’d be easy to string together those letters, to form words that make sentences and paragraphs, but he can’t. Because maybe Jaebum’s a little fucked, and maybe he’s got stale words that won’t mean a thing, not when he compares them to everything he thinks.

He doesn’t type anything at all. He bottles up his feelings and holds them hostage in a dark corner even he will forget the directions to. He drinks soju and calls Lisa and bitches about the world like it did something to purposefully wrong him.

He doesn’t point out that he’s wronged himself, that the only thing between Jaebum and happiness is _Jaebum_.

Mark is not an idiot, not like Jaebum, and he comes back. He sits Jaebum down and extracts the words from him, and Jaebum feels like he’s ten years old and his dentist is hovering over him, yanking his milk teeth out. He’s worried and scared and has a hundred and one negative feelings boiling up inside him, but deep down inside he’s relieved. Relieved someone else is taking control, that he doesn’t have to think, that everything isn’t sitting on his shoulders for once.

Mark doesn’t want him, doesn’t want Jaebum and the years of emotional baggage that come with him. No one has and no one will, so there’s no reason for Mark to feel sorry for him. Jaebum is alone and he knows that, understands it, and eventually, will be able to accept it. There are people no one gives a fuck about. Jaebum is one of them. It’s fine, even when it’s not, because the world sucks but people suck more, and trying to change that is a waste of time.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Mark tells him, mouth set in this firm line and head held high. He’s got all the strength Jaebum lacks. He’s not a self-sabotaging son of a bitch and Jaebum respects him for it. “I know what I want.”

What he wants is Jaebum, and he feels selfish when he hears that. There’s a crack on the ceiling and a beautiful boy in his lap, and all he can think about is the future. Because the future is now, and Jaebum doesn’t wanna die without holding onto something even though it’ll hurt. Mark might leave tonight or tomorrow or the day after that, but he’s here _now_. Now, where everything feels hazy and good and Jaebum thinks, somehow, that he deserves this.

He wants to get into a car and drive away, somewhere far, far from here, and pretend that nothing can touch him. He wants to be careless and free, listen to music loud enough to make himself go deaf, feel so much that it overwhelms him and he can’t figure out what the hell the difference between happiness and sadness is.

“I want that too,” Mark says, and he’s got his fingers tangled in Jaebum’s hair, holding on like he’s afraid Jaebum just might slip away. He might, he’s a flight risk after all, but if he runs it won’t be today. Not when Mark is still here.

They’re the invincible youth, except sometimes the world feels like it’s gonna crush them, and their weary bones threaten to give out on them. They’re reckless and it’s beautiful in a way most things fail to be. They do things they aren’t supposed to and make horrible mistakes and try to slap bandages over gunshot wounds. They’re worse off than the generation before them and everything is grey and ugly, but not this. Because this is something that was here long before them and will be here long after them.

There’s something basic about this, about love, something so simple that even toddlers get it. Mommy loves Daddy and Daddy loves Mommy because that’s what people do. Everyone’s seen it at least once, even those people no one cares about, because it’s everywhere and people drink it up like they’re afraid it’ll disappear.

It’s fine, then, that Jaebum loves a boy, loves the boy in his apartment and on his couch and wrapped up in his arms. Because that’s what people _do_.

Love. Love until they run out of it, until the die and their bones turn to dust. They love until they give everything they have and they’re tired. But even then they’ll keep on loving, because out of all the finite things in the world, love is _infinite_.

Jaebum’s bursting, through his skin and bones and this shoebox apartment. He’s somewhere in the upper atmosphere, floating around like there’s nothing tying him down, forcing him to stay on the ground.

“What do you want?” Mark’s looking at him with wide, honest eyes and he can’t lie, not even if he’d wanted to.

“You.”

Jaebum repeats it to Mark over and over until it sticks, until the word fizzles out and just sounds like a bunch of mumbled nonsense. He kisses with an urgency he feels deep down in his toes and it hurts, hurts in the best fucking way.

Everything is _this _moment, everything he’s ever given a fuck about is wrapped up into one Mark-shaped package, and he holds onto it like he’s afraid to lose it.

He’s drunk, on soju and Mark and feelings, and he’s laughing like he’s deranged. Mark’s body is shaking beneath his because he’s laughing along with Jaebum.

Later, when they’ve composed themselves and Jaebum can breathe again, they sit together on the couch and watch the rain. It soaks everything in sight and Jaebum wants to do something, like run around in it, drown in it, sink right into it.

“Are you leaving?” he asks Mark.

Mark, who’s pretty and warm and solid beside Jaebum, who looks at Jaebum like he’s something wonderful, who’s so painfully perfect that he shouldn’t be real.

But he is. Everything is. He doesn’t move and Jaebum tells himself that he’s gonna stay. He takes Mark’s hand and curls their fingers together in a way that feels like a promise. He’ll have to unpack that later, but for now, he holds on and prays that this moment won’t shatter right here, right now.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Yes. Of course, why wouldn’t he? He says so and Mark laughs and it’s fucking…_something_. He wants, wants this, wants Mark, and it’s such a dizzying thought that he wonders if he’ll pass out.

He’s still rambling when he talks, when he explains that this is more than anything he’s ever had, but Mark doesn’t shut up him or tune him out. He listens and smiles and kisses him when he’s done, says something horrible like he’s _proud_ of Jaebum.

And just like that, it feels like everything’s gonna be okay.


End file.
